Right Things
by eXyse
Summary: Set after series 2, this story follows Molly Hooper as she tries to unravel a series of mysterious deaths.


I originally wrote this an experiment in writing a story composed of drabbles. That experiment failed, but I managed to salvage it in this form.

* * *

_The boy sank to his knees on the cold asphalt, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Please," he begged._

_A man stepped out of the shadows, holding a syringe that sparkled in the lights of the playground. "You have to ask for it," he repeated. His voice seemed unsettled. A quick grin flirted with his lips and then was gone._

_The boy could barely speak through his tears. "P-please," he blubbered, "p-please d-do it!" His fists clenched at his side._

_The grin returned to the man's face, "If you insist," he said. Kneeling down next the boy, he added conspiratorially, "This is my favorite part."_

xxx

"I killed Sherlock."

That's what Molly Hooper thought in her head, standing in the back row at his funeral. The rain pattered out a tattoo on the small sea of black umbrellas. The tears that came into her eyes were genuine, although not shed for the same reason as the others gathered there. She still remembered Sherlock's, "I need you."

Even though she knew the truth, she still thought of him as dead. Maybe it was easier for her that way. She felt his death took something from the world, an important thing that needed replacing. And since she didn't know anyone who was going to step up to fill that void, then and there she determined that it would be her that solved the next inexplicable mystery the world presented to her.

xxx

That night the morgue received the body of an elderly heart-attack victim. Her exam found nothing unusual. Nor did it the next night with the body of a housewife suicide, her wrists an unpleasant mess of ragged slashes. But on the third night, when the she was going over the corpse of an teenager dead to an overdose of Ivory Wave, that she noticed the pattern with all three bodies.

Molly yelped in excitement. She grabbed her coat on her way out of the lab before realizing it was after midnight. Her little extracurricular excursion would have to wait for tomorrow.

xxx

Blood and loneliness greeted Molly as she stepped through the apartment door. The old man had left one living relative behind. The drab room was covered in dust and the ancient curtains shaded everything blue, rendering even the bloodstains purple rather than red.

The sister lay in her bed, liver-spotted arms slashed with an old-fashioned razor, cradling a faded photograph of her brother. Holding her breath, Molly bent over the body, turning it gently with her pen until she saw the same evidence she had seen on the other three bodies in the morgue.

When Molly left to call the police, she knew this was no suicide.

xxx

Lying to the police made Molly's skin squirm.

She leaned against the wall, catching her breath. She'd seen many dead bodies, but she'd never found one before. She watched the EMTs wheel away the corpse, watching the clockwork operations of the investigation grind to their inevitably wrong conclusion.

"Molly Hooper?" The man asking the question was tall, well groomed and balding. She had met him once before, at the morgue. Something in his eyes reminded her of Sherlock's.

She nodded her head, unable to think of anything to say. Mycroft filled in for her, "May I buy you some coffee?"

xxx

"I've been watching you," Mycroft said. Molly gasped. The two sat at the Caffe Nero, cups of tea cooling between them.

To Molly's surprised look, Mycroft said, "No, not like that. It's just that you were a… friend of Sherlock's. And I see you're taking up his hobbies." He raised a sculpted eyebrow.

Molly cradled her elbow, "What about it? It's just something I'm doing in my spare time."

Mycroft leaned forward, "There's more going on here than you know. You are no Sherlock. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Molly's eyes widened. "You know!" She stood up, her chair clattering on the ground. "They were murders! And now there's one more. I will not help you cover this up."

Grabbing her jacket she exited cafe before he could reply. Looking back, the man was shaking his head and raising his tea to his lips. Molly felt a stab of fear.

xxx

The breeze snapped the yellow police tape quarantining the chalk outline. Fighting the panic threatening to strangle her, Molly stepped into the playground.

This is where the kid had died. They said it was a drug overdose, but something about his corpse told Molly otherwise. A whiteness in his fingertips, like frostbite in May.

Molly wasn't sure what she was looking for; but luck was with her. Something skittered away from her feet. She bent down and picked it up with a white rubber gloved hand. It was a small plastic cap. She carefully put it in a plastic bag in her purse.

xxx

Back in the lab she analyzed the cap. It was the stopper for a glass vial, just like the ones she had in her lab.

She had found chemical residue on the inside of the cap. As the chemical analyzers whirred away, she held it with a gloved hand squinting at it. It didn't have any logos or marks on it, but that absence still told her something. It was a bulk-ordered part from some research lab.

Molly rubbed her eyes on her upper arm. She hadn't been sleeping well lately. That would change, she told herself. Once she figured out what was going on here.

xxx

The rattling of the window woke Molly up. She stared half-asleep at it. The lights outside cast a moving shadow, startling Molly awake.

She clicked on the bedstand lamp, immediately regretting it. The light reduced the window to a square of blackness. She got up, wishing she had something to use as a weapon. Grabbing her mini umbrella - better than nothing - she approached the window.

Holding her breath she pressed her face again the glass. Below on the street a silhouette sidestepped the pool of a streetlight and vanished down a sidestreet. Had that been the person at her window?

She shivered, feeling very alone.

xxx

Maybe it was getting too dangerous to go on. Mycroft's warning and the attempted break-in last night added up to a situation more dangerous than Molly had expected to face.

But the four bodies were there on their slabs when she went in to work. Molly tried to withstand their accusing silence as long as she could.

"Fine!" Molly cried out, bolting to her feet just as her coworker walked in carrying coffee and scones. "Are you ok?" Keila asked.

Molly blushed scarlet, "N-no," she stuttered, embarrassed. "I'm fine. I just realized I have to go out."

xxx

Becoming a burglar had not formerly been on Molly's agenda.

Even though two days had passed, there was still one last place for Molly to investigate. She waited until the middle of the day, when the husband and kids were gone, before breaking into the flat of the housewife.

She felt uncomfortable in the strange flat alone. It was less that she was afraid someone was going to come home and find her, more that she felt the eyes of the housewife's ghost pricking the back of her neck. Her courage abondoned her and so she didn't even look around before leaving.

But on her way out she saw a mag-card lying next to the door bearing the woman's face, an icon of three arrows pointing at each other and a name, "Ouroborus Laboratories."

_A research lab._

xxx

"That lab doesn't exist," was all that Mycroft would say. "And now if you would excuse me..."

But Molly wouldn't. "You know this lab," Her body shook as she stared down Sherlock's brother.

"Look, I can't help you..."

"More people will die if you don't!" Molly insisted.

"...officially," Mycroft ended. As he pushed his way past her, Molly giving up and moving out of his way, she felt him press something small and hard into her hand. She closed her fist around it and stalked off as quickly as she could, her surprise easy to hide under her genuine anger.

xxx

She should have expected it. The attempted break in a few nights ago hadn't been just a warning. When she stepped through the door of her flat he came at her.

Molly stumbled backwards. The intruder wore a black mask. He charged at her; Molly raised her hands to defend herself, and he shoulder-checked her to the ground. She slammed against the wall, the impact sending Monet's _Soleil Levant_ askew above her as she slumped to the ground, stunned. Molly watched as if outside herself as the intruder filled a syringe from a small glass vial. She recognized the stopper.

The intruder leaned over her, his shadow blotting out the light. He tapped an air bubble out of the syringe and depressed the plunger just enough so that a small amount of fluid spit out of the tip. Molly became aware of the third presence behind him at the same time he did. Her attacker turned around just in time to be clobbered by a baseball bat. The blow was clumsy in the confined space of the hallway but he grunted under the impact anyway; the intruder ran to the open window and ducked out of it. Her rescuer didn't give chase, but knelt next to Molly.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Molly nodded, and tried to swallow but her mouth was dry.

xxx

"My name is Mitchell," said the young man. Molly handed him a cup of tea, then sat down at her kitchen table with him. His eyes were gray like thick fog. "He told me to look after you."

"Who did?" She sipped her tea, concentrating in controlling the trembling of her hands. Mitchell didn't drink, but warmed his hands with the cup; he hadn't removed his ragged fingerless gloves.

"Him,"

Molly understood. Sherlock.

"Thank you for saving me," Molly said.

"No problem. I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier. You must be terrified; do you want me to stay with you? He might come back."

Molly looked at the young man. He was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He had the grime of the street on his clothes, but he had striking features and a penetrating gaze.

"No," she replied

"Ok. I'll go then." Mitchell got up, putting his untouched tea back onto its saucer.

"No, wait!" Molly squeaked, a sudden thought occurring to her, "I need you for … something else."

xxx

"You want me to help you what?" Mitchell asked.

"Break into a secret government laboratory." Molly repeated, "Well, I think it's government. Might be private."

"He told me to keep you safe. This seems the opposite of safe."

"People are dying! Four already, and somebody just tried to kill me too! That's not very safe either."

Mitchell sighed. "Fine. Where's this secret lab?"

Molly looked contrite, "I don't know." When Mitchell rolled his eyes, Molly hastened to add, "But there's an SD card a … friend gave me. It says where it is. I think. But I lost it in the fight."

xxx

Half an hour later, they found the micro SD card half-concealed under a table leg. Mitchell peered over Molly's shoulder as she worked on her laptop, reading the files on the SD card.

"These are from an e-mail archive," Molly explained, scrolling through the records, "I see some molecular diagrams, meeting requests, that kind of thing."

"That's interesting and stuff, but how about we find the file that has the lab's street address?"

"I don't think..." Molly started to say, trailing off as she pulled up the next record. It was short, just a few sentences. She squealed in sudden epiphany and poked the LCD screen, "We know where this guy takes his lunch. The Soho Cafe."

xxx

Google revealed only one Soho Cafe in London, so Mitchell agreed to meet Molly there tomorrow. Molly closed the open window, shivering from more than the night air. She saw Mitchell slump in an alley across the way. His presence made her feel a bit safer.

Molly startled at the buzzing of her cell phone.

"Oh, hi mom," Molly said, "it's really late..."

Pause.

"No, I'm not working tonight."

Molly sighed, pondering role reversals, "Are you drunk again?

She collapsed back into her bed, "Mother," she said, hoping her voice carried her fatigue and apology, "I really need to get some sleep, but I'll swing by first thing in the morning, ok?"

xxx

The morning decided to be drizzly and chill. In her mother's flat she poured weak tea with creme, which the older woman nursed.

"Really," her mom said after swallowing two Tylenol. "I didn't drink that much."

"Don't you think you're a bit old to be out partying all night?"

"No, and what's it to you if I am?" the older Hooper replied sharply.

Molly reached across the kitchen table to rest her hand lightly on her mother's, "You're my only mother, that's why."

The older woman softened as Molly served her breakfast.

"Mom?" Molly asked. A spoonful of grapefruit hovered in midair. "How do you know what the right thing to do is?"

Regret softened her mother's laugh, "You don't, dear, do you? That's the secret. You bumble through, and if it all works out ok in the end, then that was the right thing to do. And if it doesn't, well, at least you had good intentions, right?"

Molly stood up and kissed her mother on the forehead. "Thanks for the talk, mom. I have things to do."

"The right things?" Her mother smiled at her.

Molly returned the smile and kissed her again, "I have good intentions."

xxx

She arrived at the Soho at ten minutes before eleven, wet but invigorated. John Seadly, the e-mail writer, typically took lunch at 11:30, just before the rush. She ordered a chai latte and sat down to wait.

Mitchell's lateness made her nervous, but he finally showed up at 11:25. "What did you order me?" he asked, a hopeful grin lopsiding his mouth.

"Uh... nothing. Sorry."

Mitchell's look stung her to the bone. "Fine, fine. Uh, how about tea and a scone?"

"That'll be fine," he beamed at her. They sat back and waited.

xxx

The cafe filled quickly with office workers coming in on their lunch break.

"How's the chai?" Mitchell asked. Molly had barely touched it. "It's fine," she said.

"So how are we going to recognize this guy? I assume he's not just gonna wear a shirt with that snake logo on it."

"The ouroboros."

But then they both heard it, "Hey John!" someone called and waved through the crowd.

Mitchell looked doubtfully at Molly, "Popular name, John. Probably not our mark."

"How's work at the lab?" the crowd shouter asked.

"Definitely our mark," Molly said. "Mitchell, you're on."

xxx

After Mitchell slipped out of the coffee house, shadowing their lab worker, Molly relaxed a little. That had been easier than she had hoped.

"Don't turn around," a voice hissed in her ear. Her muscles tensed up. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm coming for you tonight, Miss Molly Hooper. I really do appreciate all your attention."

The shadow in her peripheral vision disappeared. Molly launched to her feet, swallowing the shriek on her lips. Among the people milling around she saw one, shoulders hunched slipping out the cafe door. She could not make herself follow.

xxx

The hypodermic needle approached Molly's eye, a drop of milky green fluid swimming at its tip. Molly tried to squirm away from it but her head was held immobile. For some reason she couldn't close her eyes or even look away.

"It's ok if you're afraid," behind the needle there was only darkness, "This is my favorite part."

The needle closed in until it touched her eye; the poison droplet blurred her vision, inflaming her cornea. Molly's heart thudded so rapidly in her chest she thought it would burst free, and then she felt the pain as the needle penetrated into her eye...

xxx

She woke with a scream. She looked in confused panic at Mitchell sitting on the chair, his baseball bat resting on his knees. He shook his head. No one had come for her in the night.

She lay in confused post-nightmare reverie, her thoughts babbling out of control, until dawn's light crept over her window sill.

"I know his motive!" she blurted out, surprising even herself.

"Huh?" Mitchell said.

"The killer. His motive. He wants... his victim's fear."

"I think you're wrong,"

"Why? He's terrorizing me."

Mitchell jaw moved composing a reply, but then he only said, "Busy day today. Let's get ready."

xxx

Molly's usual uneventful Saturday night plans were replaced by another round of B&E.

Breaking into Ouroborus Labs wasn't even hard; Mitchell had gone above and beyond, and the maglocked door set in a small office park in St Johns Woods thunked open when he waved the stolen keycard in front of it.

A red light blinked on the wall to their left; Molly tapped Mitchell on the shoulder to get his attention, but the young man was already on it, pushing the numbers written in smudged blue ink on his forearm. The light changed to solid green with a friendly bleep.

"How did you get that?" Molly asked. Mitchell just smiled, "I'm that awesome."

xxx

"I thought there'd be more security," Molly sounded disappointed, looking around the small space. Beyond the reception area a handful of offices flanked a large, open lab where stainless steel tables held racks of vials, centrifuges and other accoutrements of modern chemistry.

"What were you expecting?" Mitchell flashed her his lopsided grin, "An underground military bunker patrolled by men with dogs and an environmentally sealed clean room?"

"Well... yeah,"

"Let's get what we came for before we make some rent-a-cop's day interesting."

Molly sat down in front of a computer, "You didn't happen to get a password, did you?" she asked hopefully.

"Even my awesomeness has its limits."

xxx

They heard the maglock thunk open. "Hide!" Mitchell hissed, tugging Molly's arm to break her out of her stunned gape. He pulled her into the closest office; together they huddled under the desk, trying to still their breathing.

They heard the sounds of footsteps, papers rustling and keys jingling. In another office, paper rifled until a man's voice declared, "Aha! Thought I'd left it here,"

The footsteps made their way back to the door, and then the man sighed, "Russell must have forgotten to engage the alarm when he left again." Then they heard the beep as the alarm was reactivated and the whirr of the maglock re-engaging.

They both let out their breath, looking at each other in the dark, cramped quarters. Then they giggled like schoolkids.

xxx

The password was taped to the monitor. "Are you sure this is a government facility?" Mitchell rolled his eyes.

Molly made a sound halfway between apology and dismissal as she hacked into the computer. The company's intranet newsfeed greeted her when she launched Internet Explorer. Molly squinting at the small font, reading the sparse headlines. "Ouroboros labs voted best secret facility to work at in London", she snickered.

"What, does it really say that?" Mitchell peered closer over her shoulder. Molly laughed, "No, silly."

The third headline down read, "Employee Termination". Molly clicked that story.

"Look," she pointed, "they fired this guy just before the three murders. I think that's kinda ..."

But her voice trailed off when the page opened to a picture of the terminated employee. Molly's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she gasped out, "Mitchell!"

xxx

Molly swiveled in her chair. The picture on the page wasn't Mitchell, but it could have been...

"My brother," Mitchell said, a droplet glistening at the tip of the hypodermic needle in his hand.

The thrill of revelation won out over fear, "Oh now it makes sense!" Molly babbled, "The keycard, the passcode? Your brother gave them to you."

"No, silly," Mitchell said, grabbing her arm. Molly watched wide-eyed, unable to resist as the needle pierced into it. He was quicker and stronger than Molly thought possible. "I just work in the lab too. Had to make it look good for you, didn't we? So you would trust me."

Molly's vision filled with darkness.

xxx

"It's too soon!"

Voices in the darkness.

"It had to be now. Mycroft was interfering."

That was Mitchell.

"I wanted it to last longer."

"And people in hell want ice water, Adrian."

Molly opened her eyes. The room swam hazily into view; she was still in Ouroborus Labs, in the office where they had just hid. She tried to move, but discovered she was tied to the Aeron office chair. She wasn't really surprised. In front of her Mitchell stood talking to a slightly older and cleaner cut version of himself.

"Ah, you're awake." Adrian said, turning to her. "I guess it's time for me to launch into my villainous monologue now!" He laughed at his own joke. Mitchell threw her a sympathetic look and rolled his eyes.

Molly fought down the panic threatening to choke her. "Mitchell," she pleaded, "You watched over me as I slept. Kept me safe. Why?"

Mitchell pursed his lips, "I liked you, Molly, I really do. But you hurt my big brother," he replied.

"What?" Molly's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"I'll make it simple for you," Adrian said, stepping between them. "You don't remember me," he laughed, and Molly heard the hint of long-restrained insanity there, "Of course you don't remember me! But I remember you. I sat behind you in chem class. Remember Professor Lehrer? Boring like mashed turnips. But I always wanted to attend that class, because I knew I would see you there. I wanted to talk to you so much, but you never paid any attention to me." The fluorescent lights made the whites of his eyes stand out.

"What?" she said. Even though the threat of death at the hands of these two madmen hovered over her, she felt something else, something like... annoyance.

"How could I possibly have ignored you?" she blurted out, even while thinking to herself: way to provoke the lunatic, Molly. "Did you even try to talk to me? It wasn't like I talked to that many people in college, I think I would have noticed you. You can't just expect people to take notice of you by existing. You have to do something."

"I have done something!" Adrian yelled, his face burning.

"You killed four random people because, what, you wanted to get my attention?"

Adrian turned away. Mitchell looked between the two of them. She hadn't noticed it before, but he was holding a Bruni 380.

"They weren't random," Adrian admitted, gasping as if choking. "Those people. I'm not a murderer... those people, they wanted to die."

"What?" Molly said, raising her head. "The boy?"

"Strung out. Hard life. Turned to drugs to feel something, or stop feeling something." Adrian explained.

"The housewife..." Molly gulped, "Why did you have to kill her? She committed suicide by herself."

"No, she didn't," Adrian explained, "She couldn't take her life anymore, but she didn't have the courage to put the blade to her own wrists. I gave her the injection to stop her lungs and used the razor myself."

"They wanted to die, but they were too afraid to kill themselves. So I helped them along. But I knew they would end up in your morgue. Get your attention."

Molly thought back to her first clue that something was wrong. She hadn't at first thought anything of one more needle mark on the arm of the boy, but when the same mark and the same frostbite-like necrosis in their fingertips appeared on the other two victims...

"That was noble of you," Molly lied.

Adrian turned back to face her, and his face was twisted up into something unidentifiable. "No it wasn't! Because there's still one person I want to kill!"

Adrian lunged; Mitchell raised his weapon, but he wasn't fast enough. His brother slammed him into the wall, and the gun clattered free. Both men dove for it, but Adrian was faster. He scooped the weapon from the ground. He placed the barrel under chin.

"No!" Mitchell screamed.

Adrian's eyes were wide and brimmed with tears as they locked on Molly's. "Notice me!"

The report of the gun filled the small space completely.

xxx

"You won't see me again," Mitchell had promised after cutting her free. His back was to her, and although his head was turned back he didn't meet her eyes.

"Good," was all Molly could think to say to him. And then he was through the door and gone.

Molly used the office phone to dial 999. It didn't surprise her when it wasn't the police who showed up. Mycroft wasn't smiling when he asked her, "Happy?"

"No. Did you suspect?"

"No. I knew. Adrian was... dangerous. The secrets he knew could have jeopardized the security of the United Kingdom. But he was clever; he wouldn't reveal himself to anyone but you."

"Please don't use me as bait again."

Mycroft frowned, but did not promise or apologize.

"Or I will tell the world about Ouroborus Labs and the chemical weapons you were working on here." Molly insisted.

Mycroft's frown deepened as he replied.

xxx

"I wasn't expecting you," said Molly's mother as she stumbled into the kitchen bleary-eyed in the morning brightness. Molly was frying eggs on the stovetop.

"Sorry, mom," Molly tried to twist her frown into a smile, "I just needed a friendly face."

Her mother stepped forward, resting her forehead on Molly's shoulder. "It's ok, sweetie. I understand." She whispered, embracing her daughter. Then she pulled back, accepting a mug of tea.

"So, how did your good intentions turn out?" she asked.

Molly paused, looking around the small kitchen before answering, "It worked out in the end," her smile blossomed on her face then, "So I guess it was the right thing to do."


End file.
